Theme Park at its Darkest

The Prince of Wales was pumping, along with the rest of Fitzroy Street. In the name of gentrification, the Port Philip City Council had constructed some kind of super-tram stop where Fitzroy Street curved into The Esplanade and, in their wisdom, effectively created a bottle-neck. It became even busier than it was before. At eleven thirty at night, the dark was split into a kaleidoscope of refraction. I parked the Passat down a side street on the West St Kilda side, the only place you’d even consider finding a park at that time of night. Read more »

Chapter 23

Wally and Johnny were standing outside the sliding door to the pub when Pat got back. Wally was dressed in full lycra; white, orange and lime. A racing bike with a matching colour scheme leaned against the brickwork beside him.           

“You look like a fucking radioactive boiled egg,” said Pat. 

“Gee, Pat, tell us what you really think. Don’t hold back now.” Read more »

Saturn Devouring his Son - Fransico Goya

1.

I knew Marie was finishing late tonight, so I ate an early dinner at the pub. I had a couple of pots with a counter meal and was feeling good when I stepped out into the crisp, dry, mid-winter evening. I was crossing the parking lot when I saw something I didn’t like.

This guy, his wife and two little kids were milling about a late-model Ford station wagon. The streetlight above flickered on and the circumferent spill of yellow light illuminated their car. The wife was bent over in the rear passenger door, baby on her hip, struggling with the baby capsule. The little girl played nearby. The little boy was spinning around, arms out, singing to himself. Read more »